Paperwork
by IdiotOnParade
Summary: The wind works in mysterious ways... Was going to be a drabble, but I can't possibly do that. Possible JackOC ship later on. Ch. 7 finally up! I think I'll call it...
1. Just My Luck

**Paperwork**

_No, _Law & Order_ is not mine. No, this story was not written for any sort of profit. It is merely proof that I cannot write one-shots, let alone drabbles._

* * *

It was certainly a blustery day in Manhattan.

So blustery, in fact, that Bethany Thibodeaux's skirt was not only blown around like a Marilyn Manson spread, her chestnut hair could not keep out from behind her full-moon glasses.

Albeit, that might be something accredited to the fact that she didn't have the time to barely do so much as run a brush through it. She was running late for an important meeting. Lucky for her, she wasn't presenting anything; she just had to get some graphs and pie charts to her boss. Against better judgment, one would deem her an intern at first glance. Regardless, they would be right.

The woman looked both ways, in search of a taxi, when a piece of paper hit her in the face.

As soon as she peeled off the one from of her face, however, what seemed like thousands more hit her from the same direction like bullets. The shock of such a random occurrence was enough to bring her to the ground.

"Just my luck," she muttered, peeling the rest of the papers off her body.

At that moment, almost as if karma wanted to repay her for what just happened, she spotted a taxi headed her way. Sticking the papers in a spare manila folder, she flagged it down.

After all, she was late for an important meeting.

* * *

At the DA's office across town, Jack McCoy dismounted his Yamaha and took off his helmet. Ordinarily, he'd be the grumpy old man everyone thought he was, but not so today. He managed to get a copy of a letter telling its recipient exactly how Harvey Calder killed Anna Crossing; naturally, he was on top of the world. This just made his job a whole lot easier.

Even Connie was surprised by the spring in his step. "What makes you so happy?" she asked when he got into the office.

"Something that'll make this case a bre-" he began to say, setting his bag down on the couch. The bag that, unbeknownst to him before now, had a broken clasp.

Worried out of his mind, he began to dig frantically through the bag. It was a futile effort, though; the letter was gone, along with a few other things.

"I'm sorry, Jack," she said.

"No," he immediately replied, "it's okay. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Well," Connie said uncertainly, "I'll start on our case." With that, she headed towards her office.

Jack, however, plopped down in his chair and buried his face in his hands.

"Just my luck," he muttered.


	2. Work

Bethany Thibodeaux sat in the meeting, skimming through the papers from this morning.

Sure, the boss gave her a tongue-lashing, but it was made better by the appearance of the graphs and pie charts and their being in one piece. Not only did her boss let it slide, he also let her sit in for the meeting. At first, she was on top of the world; it wasn't everyday an intern got to listen to what the company did. Actually being there, however, made her wonder if this was really what she wanted to do for the rest of her life.

She thought about becoming a prosecutor, like her dad, but she knew she wasn't cut out for that sort of thing. She was too quiet, too nice.

Ironically, her good nature was the very reason-besides sheer boredom-why she was flipping through the papers. Maybe one of them would have a letterhead with a name and address that she could return them to.

Sure enough, she found one. "From the desk of Jack McCoy," a sheet read. "One Hogan Place."

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she dismissed it. Instead, she wrote down the name and address on the folder tab. She would return them when the meeting wrapped up.

* * *

Jack McCoy sat in his office, trying to come up with a case against Harvey Calder. At least, that's what he told himself he was doing.

In reality, he was kicking himself for losing what could've been the case breaker. It wasn't like they had much of anything else. In fact, all they had was the murder weapon-a .38-which, according to Calder, was loaned to a friend that night. His friend backed up the story, but it was very likely that he knew about the murder and was lying. No fingerprints were found on the gun, which meant that he obviously wore gloves when he used it. Still, it didn't prove anyone right or wrong.

"Beatin' yourself up 'cause of this mornin'?" a low voice with a drawl rumbled in his doorway.

Jack looked up from his desk to find Arthur Branch at the door. He began to say something, but then sighed instead. They both knew that was what he was really doing; trying to refute it was a waste of oxygen.

"Come on," Branch signaled. "We'll talk about it over a few drinks."

* * *

"Good grace of God!" Bethany exclaimed under her breath. The meeting had finally let out, and it just so happened to be 7:30 at night. It was typical that she would be invited to the longest, dullest meeting ever.

Once more strapped for time-this McCoy person probably left a long time ago-she hailed the first cab she could find.

"Where you headed, miss?" the cabbie asked as Beth got herself situated.

"One Hogan Place," she replied.

Suddenly, the ceiling of the cab lit up like a dance floor and alarms went off left and right. Were she not buckled up she would've jumped out of her seat.

"W-w-what's going on?" the frightened woman managed to stammer.

"Congratulations miss," the cabbie replied. "You're in the Cash Cab."

* * *

_I always wanted to do that. By the way, I don't own Cash Cab._


	3. The Office

That ride in the Cash Cab exhausted what was left of her mind before she got in, but Beth did manage about two grand. In any case, she did manage to get to One Hogan Place intact. Not wanting to keep anyone waiting any longer, she denied the Video Challenge and headed inside, pocketing the $2000.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist, a no-nonsense-type black woman, asked Bethany inside. She didn't even look up from the files she was digging in.

"Um, yes," she replied. "I'm looking for a Jack McCoy-"

"No, he hasn't left yet," she answered without missing a beat or meeting her gaze. "Eighth floor, first one on the left."

"Thank you," Beth answered, scuttling for the elevator.

When the elevator doors closed to make its ascent, the receptionist sighed and shook her head. "God help that girl."

It was another thing that seemed to be a turnoff about being a prosecutor: long hours. It was part of the reason that Beth's mom took her and left her dad.

Still, the eighth floor was eerily quiet. Maybe it was just McCoy in his office, working overtime, she thought to herself.

She knocked on the door. "Mr. McCoy?"

No response.

She knocked again, a little bit louder this time. Everyone always said that no one ever heard her knocking. "Mr. McCoy?"

Still nothing.

She tried the knob to find that his door was unlocked. She thought it was strange, but then remembered that he could still be anywhere in the building. In that case, it would be silly to lock the door. Reasoning aside, she walked in slowly; she didn't really want to get caught snooping around someone's office.

The name on the desk verified that this was his office. Knowing that she was in the right place, she set the folder on his desk. That's when she noticed something.

"A bottle of Scotch," she muttered to herself. "Poor guy."

Her mom usually drank Scotch when she broke up with a boyfriend. That coupled with the stereotypical wino's background led her to believe that Scotch was usually reserved for people whose love life-or life in general-was in a rut.

She also noticed a picture of a girl about five years her junior with dark brown hair. Divorced wife? Cheating girlfriend? Girlfriend who caught _him_ cheating? The theories buzzed around in her head like angry wasps.

Then, a stern voice cut through all of that: "What the hell are you doing in my office?!"

Her head snapped up to meet gazes with what she assumed to be Jack McCoy, a lanky old man with salt-and-pepper colored hair and somewhat bushy eyebrows. What she could see of his eyes spelled out his anger.

It took her awhile to find her voice again, and when she did she could barely get it to work. "I-I-I-I found t-t-those papers th-this morning and I wanted to give them back," she just managed to get out. That said she scurried out of his office as fast as she could.

* * *

Jack was still kind of frustrated, even after a few rounds of Scotch with the DA in his office. Finding that woman in there uninvited only made things worse. He would've even called security if she actually posed some kind of threat. Then he noticed the manila folder on his desk.

In that folder, he found everything that had flown out of his bag on his way to work, including the letter. Quite frankly, he was so happy that he was crying. If anything else had happened to those papers they would've surely ended up in the garbage.

"What the hell's going on down here?" Branch asked.

McCoy looked over to his doorway to find Branch and Rubirosa standing there in utter confusion.

Then he realized what he'd done. Drying his eyes, he left the office, leaving the two lawyers even more confused.

"Ecstatic, bummed, furious, ecstatic again and now worried," Rubirosa quipped. "And I thought _I_ was a mood swinger."


	4. Heart to Heart: Niceties

"Have you seen her?" Jack asked the receptionist, slipping on his overcoat.

"Yeah, yeah," she replied, annoyed and still digging in her files. "She went outside. Seemed in some kind of hurry. My guess, she's probably still sitting at that bus stop. The way that girl is, she can't be from around here. Why, you said something stupid to your new _girlfriend_?"

"Wha-no!" Jack exclaimed. He knew she asked that question solely to piss him off. "But thanks anyway." He stuck his fedora on his head and walked out.

"No problem, buddy," she sarcastically replied under her breath after he left.

* * *

The wind had died down considerably from this morning. After substantial amounts of finger-runnings through it, Bethany's hair had tamed during the day, at least to where it wasn't in her face anymore.

Sitting at a bus stop, she decided to let her fingers stay in her hair while her forehead lay in her palms. She should've seen that coming; she should've known better than to just barge into his empty office. The way he looked and sounded, she was surprised he didn't call security right there, not to mention the cops.

She heard footsteps from around the corner. One thing she noticed about Hogan Place: not a lot of people came by. It was probably either a security or police officer.

She stood up, throwing her hands in the air. Getting arrested on a breaking/entering charge wasn't on her to-do list for the Big Apple. "I'm going; I'm going," she told the perceived fuzz, walking away.

"Don't go," a voice she recognized requested. "At least, not just yet."

She stopped in her tracks and turned around. As expected, Mr. McCoy was standing there, hands shoved into his overcoat pockets. The fedora on his head would have broken her into hysterical laughter had she not just been caught in his office minutes before now.

She sighed. "I should've known better than to barge into your office while you weren't in." She figured he wanted an apology, and she wasn't exactly known for giving people flak. "I'm sorry."

"That's very kind of you," he replied, walking towards her, "but I'm not here for an apology."

She didn't even bother with the confused look just yet. He probably lost something else from his office and linked it to her.

"I didn't take anything from your office," she answered. Burglary was another charge to avoid, especially a bogus one.

"And I have no reason to believe you did," he continued.

Now she gave him a confused look. "So then…"

"I came to say thanks," he said. "For returning those papers. Speaking of, you didn't read any of them, did you?"

She never really developed an interest in other people's private matters, something that struck other people as odd. "No sir."

He nodded. "Okay," he said. "Then thank you, very much. You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Anytime," she replied.

"Jack McCoy," he told her, extending his hand. "Forgive my manners."

"Bethany Thibodeaux," she replied, shaking his hand, "and don't worry about it. After the little stunt I just pulled, I'd say arguably we're about even."

"Arguably?"

"Well, not giving a proper introduction isn't exactly the same as walking in somewhere where you don't belong."

"Alright, I'm not going to listen to you beat yourself up about it," he told her. "But, if it makes you feel any better…"

He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. "I forgive you."

It was strange. Now she wished that he would never leave, that they could stay like this…

'Snap out of it,' she thought to herself. 'This guy's old enough to be your dad; it would never work.'

"Well?" she suddenly heard McCoy ask. "You want to get a drink or not?"

She turned toward him. It wasn't like her to zone out like that. "Uh, sure."


	5. Heart to Heart: Reflections

* * *

"What'll it be?" the bartender asked when Bethany and Jack sat down.

"A Sprite, please," Beth replied.

"Scotch, rocks," Jack answered.

Beth looked away, sullen. Whatever was eating away at him inside, if anything, he knew how to not show it.

"How did you even find those papers anyway?" Jack asked.

"Oh, well," Beth answered, "if I had to be more accurate, they found me."

"Huh?"

"Well, the wind blew them my way. One hit me in the face, and the rest followed suit."

They both looked at each other for a minute as the bartender set their drinks down beside them.

"So, uh, what were you looking at on my desk?" Jack asked her, breaking the silence. "I don't mean to be stingy, but…"

"I know, I know," she said. "It's 'cause of the whole attorney-client thing; I get it. Thing is, this is probably going to sound dumb, but…"

She sighed. "I was looking at the bottle of scotch on your desk."

"Thinking of helping yourself, eh?" he joked, grabbing his drink and taking a sip.

"Yeah. Right," she chuckled, grabbing her own. "I was thinking of my mom when I saw it, and I guess I'm jumping to conclusions here, but I couldn't help but think about what love life you had and maybe how bad it was."

Jack stared into the dark amber liquid blankly. He just couldn't believe how wrong she thought she was, yet how right she really was. Sighing, he set his drink down and pushed it aside.

"My dad used to drink this all the time," he revealed. "God, I hated him. The things he would do to my mother, to _me_, I…"

He felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes. "I feel horrible for drinking it now," he said, his voice breaking. "I, I almost feel like I'm going down his path, like I'm turning into him…"

Bethany was at a loss for words. Instead, she set her drink down and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry you had to go through what happened back then," she told him when he turned to her, "but you're still a good man, and no amount of scotch will ever change that. And don't you _ever_ let anyone tell you otherwise."

He dried his eyes, partly wondering what led him to tell her that. "Thanks."

Bethany smiled, tears in her own eyes. "Glad I could help."

"Now why are _you_ crying?" he asked, noticing the tears. "You have horror stories of your own parents?"

She wiped her eyes. "This is going to sound really pathetic, but, uh," she answered hesitantly, "I'm just glad that I actually did something to make things a little bit better. Usually anything I try to do goes to pot faster than I can blink."

She sighed. "Besides, how could I have parental horror stories? They were never there. My dad was married to his job, which is why my mom left him. After that, she was either drinking or looking for love in the wrong places."

She looked into the bubbling clear fluid in her own glass. "I haven't even seen my dad since the divorce."

"Your mom got sole custody?" Jack asked in disbelief.

"It was supposed to be joint," Beth explained, "but whenever his turn came around he was too wrapped up in his job. After a while, the court figured it would be better for me to stay with an alcoholic and lovesick mother than a nonexistent father. Personally, I don't see the difference."

Suddenly, she fell silent, as if in thought. "Wait a minute. You work for the DA's office, don't you?"

Jack nodded warily, unsure of where she was going with this.

"I think you might know him," she muttered to where he could hear.

"Why? What was his name?"

"Benjamin Stone."

Jack did a double-take when he heard the name. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, he started working there around '85. I don't think he works there anymore, though."

Jack chuckled. He found it amusing that he took his predecessor's estranged daughter out for a drink.

"Do you know him?"

"Sure do," he answered. "Want to pay him a visit? I'm sure he'd appreciate it."

She checked her watch: 9:15 PM. "You sure it's not too late?"

"It's never too late for a reunion," he answered.

"And your boss doesn't mind?"

"Frankly, I'll bet that he's more than happy to see me out of the office, especially after today. Come on, let's go."

Walking towards the parking garage, Jack tossed her a spare helmet.

"Take it," he told her. "You'll need it."

Bethany stared into the helmet and then at the Yamaha that he was standing next to.

"You got to be kidding me."


	6. Tragic Reunion

* * *

The motorcycle ride brought them to an apartment building. It wasn't exactly The Radisson, but it passed for decent living standards.

Bethany's hand was shaking as she went to knock on a door that read 6B. It was her first time on a motorbike, and the office skirt gave her hell for it.

She knew that it would be her first time to see him in what seemed like forever, probably to the both of them. She figured that he would be overjoyed to finally be able to see his little girl, but something held her back.

"You sure it's not-" she began to ask insecurely.

"It'll be just fine," Jack reassured her. "If he gets mad, he'll get over it."

"Okay," she sighed, half-buying it. With that, she mustered up whatever she could and knocked on the door.

No response. Not even an exclamation querying their motives for being there so late at night.

She knocked again, harder this time, feeling a degree of déjà vu. Still nothing. Curious, she placed her ear to the door to listen for footsteps; she heard none. "He's probably asleep. We should go-"

Her sentence was cut off by the fact that Jack was barging into the apartment.

"What do you think you're doing?!" she asked him in surprise and anger. "Do you want us arrested?"

He ignored her and barged right in.

"Fine. If you want to go to jail and get disbarred, that's just dandy. I'm staying out here."

"Beth," Jack called from inside the apartment, "I think you should see this."

"Forget it, Jack," she told him. "Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow."

"No, it can't wait. You should seriously come look." His voice couldn't be more somber if he just got diagnosed with cancer.

Against her better judgment, she walked inside. Her fury turned straight into horror, however, when she walked into the living room.

* * *

"DOA's name is Benjamin Stone," a CSU unit told Detective Ed Green as he maneuvered his way around the body suspended by a bed sheet. "Mid-sixties, white, average height-weight, no signs of struggle. Looks like a suicide."

"Found a suicide note?" he asked.

"We're canvassing as we speak."

"Alright," he replied. "Let me know if you fi-" He turned around and saw Jack McCoy standing there talking to Nina Cassady with another unconscious body in his arms.

"What the hell is he doing here, Cassady?" he couldn't help but ask. "A-and who's that with him?"

"Bethany Thibodeaux," she answered, "our DOA's daughter, from what he told me. Apparently they were coming over for a reunion. McCoy walked in and she followed. My guess, she fainted when she saw Stone."

She leaned in close, bringing her voice down to a dull whisper. "Honestly, I don't buy a word of it."

"I didn't touch anything other than the doorknob, I _swear_," McCoy told the detectives.

"I'm really sorry about this," he continued in response to Green's exasperated sigh. "It's just, I really wanted her to see her dad; it was all I could think about."

"Prosecutor or not, you expect us to believe that?" Cassady remarked. Ed turned to her quickly, giving her a stern look.

"Hey, I used to be a dad with an estranged daughter," he told the newbie detective, temper flaring. "I didn't want old Ben to end up like me, drinking a bottle of scotch alone at night just to make the pain go away."

He heard a soft moan in his ear. "Whe-where am I?" a now conscious Bethany Thibodeaux asked. "What happened?"

"There, there," he sighed, rubbing his hand up and down her back in an effort to console her, "it's okay. I've got you."

It took her a minute to realize that she was in Jack's arms. It felt nice there, like she actually fit. Unfortunately, she had other things on her mind.

"Is it true?" she asked him. "My dad, is he-"

She stopped and turned around, startled, when she heard Cassady answer in a deadpan: "We have a dead man named Benjamin Stone, if _that's_ what you're insinuating."

"Detective!" Jack exclaimed in sheer repulsion. "Have you no shame?!"

Ed cleared his throat. "Cassady, I think you should go help the CSU's canvass for a note," he told her through gritted teeth.

"I, I need to sit down," Beth muttered, almost as if in a trance, as Cassady stormed off in a huff.

"I _sincerely_ apologize for my partner, ma'am," Ed told her. "I don't know what's gotten into her-"

"How long?"

He looked at her, barely aware that she said something. "I'm sorry; did you say something?"

"_How long_," she repeated, louder and more authoritative, "_has he been dead?_"

Ed was taken aback by her sternness. "Uh, we're not absolutely sure, but we figure he's been dead for about a day or two."

"Oh," she replied, returning to her disheveled, trance-like state.

He sighed. "Also, on behalf of the City of New York, we're sorry for your loss. Your father was a great man."

"How would I know?" she rhetorically asked, her voice breaking as tears finally came. "I haven't seen him in almost twenty years!"

Then she buried her face in her hands and broke down into hysterics. Detective Green looked up for a second to see his partner watching from another room, a sympathetic look on her face.

* * *

After being questioned by the police, Jack and Beth headed outside. Jack had his arm around Bethany as she cried.

"I'm, I'm sorry," she tried to tell him through sobs, "that you had to come all the way out here just for this."

"It's okay, it's okay," he reassured her, embracing her into his arms again as she continued mourning.

'My _God_,' he thought as he held the young woman. 'Twenty years without seeing his daughter. That must've been hell for the poor guy.'

"I should get going," she told him. "You probably have work in the morning."

"Actually," he replied, "you cut my work out for me."

She smiled through her tears. "Glad I could help."

"I guess I'll be seeing you around?" he asked.

"I hope so," she replied, "but hopefully it's not in court."

"You sure you don't want me to take you home?"

She checked the street to find no sign of a taxi or a bus. "You might as well," she sighed.

* * *

"Cassady, can I see you for a second?" Detective Green asked when McCoy and the other woman left.

Nina sighed and walked over to her senior partner. She knew what this would be about, along with what was coming.

"What in the _hell_ was that back there?" he asked. "I ought to tell the Lieutenant about that little stunt you pulled!"

She sighed again. "She sounded to me like she was lying through her teeth-"

"Well, listen up," he told her. "Next time you have another theory like that, get some evidence to back it up. Otherwise, go with face value. _Got it?_"

"Got it," she replied.

The two went back to work canvassing for anything remotely close to a suicide note.

"You sure there weren't any signs of a struggle whatsoever?" he asked a CSU unit.

"Nothing obvious," she replied.

Nina, however, went to his phone. "Maybe one of his messages sent him over the edge."

"I don't know," Ed replied, tired of examining. "Worth a shot."

With that, she pressed play on the base. An automated voice responded: "You have 15 old messages."

With that, the messages started playing themselves. Honestly, she never heard so many credit card companies call one phone before now. In fact, they were all from credit card companies, except one:

_"Mr. Stone, this is Sacred Life Hospital calling in regards to an Annabelle Thibodeaux. You were listed as her next of kin, so we figured it best to call you. In any case, she died last Thursday due to liver failure. We apologize for your loss and if you have any questions, please call 986-527-0105. Again, we're sorry for your loss."_

"Must've been the last straw," Ed muttered as the barrage of depressing messages finally ended.

"Yeah, but who is this Annabelle Thibodeaux?" Nina asked.

"Either ex-wife or mistress," Ed replied. "Knowing that the other woman-Bethany, I think her name was-knew that Stone was her father, I'd say the former."

"Let's call and find out," Nina suggested.


	7. Aftermath

Bethany lay on the bed in the hotel, still trying to cope with the events of last night, when the phone rang. She picked it up, hoping it wasn't her accounting firm.

"Hello?"

"Miss Thibodeaux, might I ask what you're still doing at the hotel?" She grimaced when she heard Mr. Sherman, her supervisor, on the phone. He was the last person she wanted to explain this to.

"Mourning," she sighed.

"Actually," he remarked, "it's 1: 30 in the after-"

"I have a clock here," she replied sternly, "and that's not what I meant." She knew that accounting didn't exactly require a PhD in English, but she wasn't in the mood for this. After all…

"Well, then, what _do_ you mean?" he asked, more than slightly angered by her tone of voice.

"Sorry, sir," she told him, picking up on the anger in his tone, "I didn't mean to snap. It's just…"

"Just what?" he prodded on, the fury in his voice making itself known.

She let out a sigh of simultaneous reluctance and exasperation. "My dad died. I found out yesterday, and I'm waiting on a call from the medical examiner to say how long."

"My goodness; I can't tell you how terribly sorry I am for your loss," Mr. Sherman replied, shocked. "If I had known-"

"You couldn't have known," she told him, tears silently running down her face.

"I understand you may not want to talk about this," he continued, "but if I may…"

She knew this question would arise sooner or later, and she hated it because it was the hardest to bring herself to answer: "How did he die?"

"He," she began to say, trying not to break down. "He…"

"That's okay," he reassured her. "You don't have to tell me. In any case, on behalf of the Thompson & Company accounting firm, we apologize for your loss and hope to see you back as soon as we can."

"Thanks," she meekly replied and hung up the phone. She still couldn't believe it. It would've been the first time either of them had seen each other in two decades and he had to go and hang himself.

'Stop thinking that!' her conscience told her. 'You can't blame him for wanting to off himself; he missed you, and twenty years was too much to bear.'

'You're right,' she told the personification of her conscience. With that, she grabbed the nearest pillow and buried her face in it, letting out the tears she couldn't share with her superior.

The phone rang again. Knowing that it wasn't her workplace calling, she picked it up.

"This is Detective Green from the 27th Precinct," the voice on the other end of the line identified itself when she answered. "I have the autopsy report from the M.E, and it says that your dad died at ten the evening before."

"Thank you," she told him. She was glad that she was finally able to put that to rest.

"And also," he continued, "I wanted to ask you a few questions. Do you know anyone by the name of Annabelle Thibodeaux?"

She immediately recognized the name. "Yes; that's my mother. Why?"

"And she was married to Mr. Stone, right?"

"That's right," she answered, becoming more anxious. "Can you please tell me what this is about?"

The man on the other end sighed. "I'm very sorry that I have to tell you this on the heels of something so traumatic, but…"

"But what?" she asked frantically, more tears making themselves known.

"We found a message on his answering machine. She was in a hospital somewhere in California-for what we don't know-but she died last Thursday. Liver failure."

She fell silent. In all honesty, she didn't know what to do.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

'Are you okay, he says,' she thought to her self. 'What do you think?!'

"In any case," the detective continued, "we found his suicide note, and he wanted to let you know that he loved you and your mother as well. Again, we're _extremely_ sorry for your loss and wish it didn't have to be at such a hard time."

"Thanks," she told him, hanging up. In reality, however, she was willing to punch the next person who said that at this point.

Suddenly, she started chuckling. "First I find my dad hanging by a bed sheet," she told herself, the chortling increasing in volume, "and now I hear that my mom's dead in a hospital across the nation."

Her chuckling burst into full-blown laughter as she continued: "This has to be some kind of joke!"

Just as her laughter had reached its peak, it turned into out of control sobbing as she buried her face in the pillow again.

* * *

"Cassady, can I see you for a minute?" Lt. Anita Van Buren asked firmly.

The detective got up from her desk and went inside, closing the door behind her. "What's this about?"

"You mind explaining what you did last night _besides_ royally piss off a dead man's only survivor?" the lieutenant asked, her voice dripping with ire.

"I went with my gut, Lieu," Nina tried to explain. "I honestly believed that she was lying."

"And because of that, we wasted daylight that we could've used to solve _actual_ murder cases to check if this girl was telling the truth!" Anita reminded her, pounding her fist on her desk.

"Well, what did you expect me to do, let a potential murder suspect go free?" Nina retorted.

"The girl was unconscious at the scene," Anita countered. "She fainted when she saw her dad hanging from a bed sheet nailed to the doorway of his living room. What part of that _possibly_ makes you think she's a murderer?! She didn't even have anything close to a motive!"

The lieutenant sighed, trying to calm herself down before she hit this girl. "You know what, just, please, get out of my office," she told her subordinate.

She walked out, not bothering with the door, and sat back down across from her partner. She tried to get back to work, but the culmination of the stress and tension that had been building ever since she was promoted kept distracting her.

Frustrated, she put down the records she was going through, took out the laptop she had been issued and opened up a word document:

"_To whom it may concern,_

_I write today to tell you that I offer my resignation from the 27__th__ Precinct…_"

* * *

A few hours passed before Beth heard someone knocking on the door. It made her wonder who it was, considering she distinctly remembered placing the 'Do not disturb' sign on her door.

She got up, stuck her glasses on and headed for the door. Before opening it, however, she looked through the eyehole to see that Jack McCoy had dropped by for what could loosely be defined as a follow-up.

She opened the door to find that he had even brought flowers. This had to be the first time today that the apathetic side of her that had gained considerably more clout in the last twelve hours was proven wrong.

"For you," he told her, handing her the bouquet.

"It's beautiful; thank you so much," she told him, taking it from him.

"It's the least I could do-"

"No; I mean it," she told him, coming out of the bathroom with a giant glass half full of water. "Thank you, for everything. I can't possibly imagine how to repay you."

He watched her stick the bouquet into the glass, about a fourth of the stems being submerged in the water. He figured she'd still be upset about her dad, but he could tell something else was wrong. After all, he was a prosecutor; reading people just made the job easier.

"You," he asked, uncertainly, "want to talk about anything?"

She sighed, sitting down on the bed. "Detective Green called today. He said that some hospital called my dad the day he died. Apparently, my mom's dead, too."

"Oh, my God," he said, sitting next to her. "And they told you this _today_?"

She nodded, tears streaming down her face. "I thought it was some kind of joke, but then I realized that it's not."

She tried to smile. "Well, my folks finally have what they always wanted. They can finally be together again." She dropped the smile almost immediately after saying that. "It just makes me feel horrible that they couldn't be with each other on the same plane as me." With that, she slipped her hands under her glasses and started crying again.

"Don't say that," he told her, wrapping his arm around her. "I'm sure they loved you very much."

"And they're not the only ones," he muttered under his breath.

Beth turned to him sharply, unable to believe what he just said. "Are you hitting on me?"

Jack stammered a bit before he sighed, defeated. What he did was a new low, not only for him but for the entire human race. Even the people he put away for life down at Rikers for acts unspeakable would've thought twice before trying to court someone mourning the death of their parents. "I shouldn't have said that. It was a horrible time-"

"Actually," she consoled him, "I needed that. Not just for reassurance that the entire world isn't out to get me, but also because…"

"Because why?"

She sighed. "Yesterday, as soon as I met you, I felt something. I tried to fight it to where we could just be friends, but now I don't have to."

"In other words," Jack rationalized, leaning in slowly, "you love me, too."

She nodded, meeting his lips for something they now knew they both wanted.


End file.
